Page 64 of Intent to Kill
Lucky Dan was right there picking up on his trail. “Blake is about to make sure this election happens five months early. On June 17th.”
And just like that, the whole revenge plan—hinging on his ‘before the fucking election’ timeline—was shot straight to hell.
12
HOURGLASS
MARCH 1991
“Hang on a minute,” Carlos said, his eyes still scanning the ballot. “Not everyone’s name is on this list.”
“What?” Paul rounded the table, leaning over Carlos’ shoulder.
“How could he possibly get the election moved to an earlier date?” Mercedes mused, tapping on her chin.
“He couldn’t,” Dan said. “It’s not possible.”
Paul and Carlos were whispering over the ballot, but Adam’s focus was on Dan.
“If anyone could, it’d be Dorian,” Mercedes said.
“Pfft,” Dan scoffed. “The only way to get an election moved up is if the current mayor is dead and that–”
“Guys,” Carlos’s voice tensed. “Diego’s name isn’t on this.”
Mercedes snatched the paper from Carlos with wide eyes. “What the fuck?”
Adam read it over her shoulder and cursed himself internally again. He was such a fucking idiot. This paper changed everything, and they’d tossed it aside in his fucking nightstand! “Because he knows by the time the election will roll around, Diego will already be dead. He’s going to kill him. That’s why he needs an alibi and why he knows the election will be moved up.”
Adam paced the room, his emotions growing in panic.
“What the fuck are we gonna do?” Carlos huffed.
“June 17th is less than three months away! If Blake succeeds here, we’re fucked. Fucked,” Dan said.
Carlos thumped his head onto the table.
“We can’t afford to have our timeline shortened by that much,” Paul said. “We were pushing it as it was.”
“Pushing it? We were trying to pull off the impossible, if we lose half our timeline, it cannot be done!” Dan shouted.
Mercedes glared him down, so he turned to Carlos for support.
“It can’t be done,” Carlos agreed. “If we lose time, if the election gets moved up. We cannot beat Dorian Blake. He wins. Instant. Automatic.”
“Then we have to stop it,” Adam said, his thick brows smothering his frown. “Where is Diego right now?”
Dan checked his watch. “He has a regular golf game.”
“Then we really are fucked,” Paul said. “Out in the open like that? It’s a sniper’s wet dream.”
“Gear up,” Adam said. “We’re stopping this fucking hit.”
* * *
Adam was the only one left sitting in Paul’s van across from the golf course. When they’d arrived, Diego had been on the twelfth hole. Alive, still. Luckily. Dan had worked his way into a security position, and Carlos had slipped in as an extra caddy. No one had noticed. Which meant security was lax and he had his work cut out for him.
“Am I good to go?” Adam buzzed into his radio.
